The Founding of Pigwarts I: Recipe For Chaos
by Heptagon
Summary: Take one Golden Trio, add a lonely Ferret, and throw them all together for the night, with lots of alcohol. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco spend one night at the ruins of Hogwarts, getting drunk and founding a new school. Second part up: Cooking Chaos
1. In the beginning there was a Party

**Author's note:** This is the first part of my _The Founding of Pigwarts Trilogy_. I have all its three parts planned out already, though not yet written. Each part will be approximately 8 to 10 not very long chapters. And I have every intention to finish this trilogy. :)

The first chapter might be a bit angsty at times, but the following ones will be funnier. There will be an ounce of romance as well, but mostly it's just good old humour. :D

**Enjoy!**

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**Disclaimer:** Anything you can recognize from _Harry Potter_ belongs to J. K. Rowling. The idea and name of Pigwarts is kind of mine.. :) Here, piggy-piggy!

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**The Founding of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos**

_**Chapter 1: In the Beginning there was a Party**_

Voldemort was dead, and the world felt like celebrating. The final confrontation had taken place in Hogwarts and in the end the good side won. Everyone felt it the best excuse for getting pissed drunk, dancing on the tables and waking up in a strange bed beside a stranger with a hell of a headache.

Those were the people who hadn't personally fought in the war.

Those who had, found it the perfect time to get pissed drunk, dance on the tables and forgot all the death and destruction they had witnessed and caused. Waking up in a strange bed beside a stranger with a hell of a headache would be a welcomed distraction to keep them from thinking back, from remembering. Recalling that victory had come with the price of lives, and the grass had been red with blood before the rain washed it all away.

Three such people were making their way towards the castle of Hogwarts just now, under the cover of night. They were heroes of the war, and stealing away from the party held in their honour, they had taken as much alcohol with them as they could carry.

Here, before these walls, the battle had been fought, and here would be the only place suitable for gaining oblivion. Not celebrating. But forgetting.

They stopped by the lake and looked at their precious school. The war had not been kind on it – the only thing left of it was a pile of stones. Dead. Hogwarts was dead just like its beloved headmaster, whose white grave still stood proud at their side.

The shortest of the trio gazed that way and realized the tomb was not the only thing there. A figure was standing beside it, with its head lowered and back straight. The moonlight caught on a strand of silver and suddenly she knew who it was.

Hermione Granger was drunk. She had fought in the battle and now she needed to forget. And that was probably the only reason why she did what she did next.

"Malfoy!" she called out to the figure, and when he looked up, added: "We've got firewhisky!"

"And butterbeer!" Ron spoke up from beside her.

"Mead, too!" Harry hollered.

The Golden Trio was already pissed drunk. But they were still standing, however waveringly, and they still remembered.

To say that Draco was surprised at what he saw would be the understatement of the whole eternity. Malfoys did not gape with their mouth open, but he couldn't think of anything better to do at the moment. Scarhead, Weasel and Mudblood, his three top enemies, had just sort of asked him to join them in their celebrations. And they were here, by the ruins, this night. And they were drunk.

"Hermy," Ron whined, having fallen on the ground and not yet figured out how to get up. His drunk friend still had it in her to roll her eyes as she extended her hand to help him up. After four tries, they managed it, but Ron looked dissatisfied.

"Hermy," he started again. "Where's Hogwarts?"

Draco who was completely sober and for once very happy about it closed his mouth with a snap and rolled his own eyes. Oh, if only he had a camera. But with these three the divine heroes of the universe, people would probably forgive them anything. Since the whole world was doing the very same this very moment – getting drunk, that is. Only in some better place.

Hermione turned slowly and unsteadily, before fixing her eyes on the lake and then moving them to the pile of stones which once had been the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Oh there it is," she pointed to it, then took on a puzzled expression. "I kind of remembered it much bigger."

"Perhaps it's because we were smaller then ourselves," Harry suggested.

"Yes! That could be it!" Hermione jumped merrily. "You're smart, Harry."

"Of course I'm smart. I destroyed Vol... Volle... Volly... whatever his name was. The Big Bad Guy."

"I helped, too!" Ron piped in.

Draco rolled his eyes again and shifted his glance to the white marble.

"I hear you, old man," he spoke quietly after a moment, his voice void of contempt or malice. "I will look after them. It's the least I can do. And you should know I need a distraction and forgetfulness myself."

And he did for he too had fought in the war. Only on the other side. Until the very end, until the deciding moment, and then... Switching sides had meant fighting against all his friends and his father. It hadn't been easy.

"Let's go!" Harry yelled, a leader once more, and together they walked, rolled, and crawled towards the ruined castle.

---

"Umm..." Ron stated once they got there. "Where's the door?"

"It must be somewhere here," Hermione rationalized. After all, doors didn't just disappear like that, did they?

"Oh, here it is!" Harry announced proudly and climbed into the opening between the rocks.

"Wait up, Harry!" Ron yelled and turned to follow, only to tumble down once again and burst out laughing.

Hermione laughed, too, even though she didn't get the joke. Must have been a boys' thing. But it felt good – laughing, that is.

After Ron had somehow crept under the stones himself, she looked around, and saw Malfoy performing some spell, his wand pointed towards the castle.

"You're doing magic!" she cried out.

"Yes. Very clever of you, Granger."

Even in her confused state she took notice of the sarcasm and pouted. But when nothing happened for the next couple of moments, she got bored with the silence and opened her mouth again.

"What magic did you do?"

"I secured the ruins so the pile of stones wouldn't come down upon you while your Demented Trio is underneath."

"You silly boy," Hermione laughed at him. "If Hogwarts didn't fall upon us all those years we went here to school, why should it now?"

"Because, you silly girl," he answered. "Hogwarts is ruined. In case you haven't noticed it before, and it seems you haven't, it's just a pile of rocks."

She ceased her laughter and send him a puzzled look, then turned and gazed at the castle. He was right – it was indeed nothing but a pile of rocks. How could she have forgotten that? But this was what they were after, wasn't it? Lethe, oblivion, forgetfulness. Memories were bad.

"Memories are bad," she spoke aloud, though more to herself. "I don't want to remember. I want to forget. Help me forget, Draco."

_Only if you help me forget,_ he thought.

"All right, Granger, let's go," he took her by the hand and led her to the rocky mass. "In you go, to your dear friends before they get themselves into trouble."

"I'll follow you," he reassured when she gave him a hesitative glance.

---

"The Great Hall is kind of small, too," Ron observed, as the four of them had settled down in the largest hollow they were able to find and access. It was a misshapen ring of stones with the diameter of approximately 10 feet and twice that high. The ceiling was missing.

"But the ceiling is still enchanted," said Harry, turning to the night sky.

"There's no ceiling, Harry," Hermione corrected, and Draco suddenly wondered whether she was only pretending to be drunk.

"Where did the ceiling go?" Ron demanded.

"I suppose it was destroyed in the battle. Like the rest of the castle," she explained.

"Don't say it!" Harry exclaimed. "Don't say the B-word."

"What word? Oh, you mean battle..."

"Don't say it! How can we forget it if all you do is keep reminding it to us!"

"You're right, Harry. Sorry," she apologized.

The next half an hour was spent in silence as everybody slowly drank whatever they managed to get hold of (Draco had Butterbeer – he had realized that the only thing worse than being with drunk Gryffindors was probably being drunk with drunk Gryffindors. Perhaps it would have been more pleasant for the moment, but he was not going to think in whose arms he might wake up in the morning), and tried not to remember. I didn't work.

"I know," said Hermione suddenly, getting the look she usually got just before dashing off to the library. "We should do something to keep our mind occupied. And I know just the thing," she smiled.

"What?" Ron asked wearily.

"Since Hogwarts got destroyed and since it was partly our fault, we should think about founding a new school for witches and wizards."

"Not the S-word!" Ron whined. "Why does it always has to be something about school with you?"

"Would you rather I talk about the bat--"

"Great idea!" Harry quickly interrupted.

"Yea.." Ron agreed grudgingly.

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**My red piggy Surra Murra would like you to leave a REVIEW. :)**


	2. First Things First

**A/N: **I decided not to keep you waiting any longer, especially with all those lovely reviews you have left me. :)

About that, _Surra Murra_ would like to say big thanks to xegg-splatx, mesaqt, Genetic Island, stephanie9999265, xsupxdudex, Ward, potter-me-, jc 2021, Lady of the Serpents, liza123, Kandygurl4, Elemental Dragon1, reneeweber, SoMe wEirDo, StormMasters, GDgirl1993 and Miz Felton for all your wonderful reviews. I agree with her, and like to add that you inspired me greatly - all of you. :)

If you're wondering who is this Surra Murra thanking you here, then there's a link in my profile. ;)

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**Disclaimer:** Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and _Harry Potter_ doesn't belong to me!

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**The Founding of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos**

**_Chapter 2: First Things First_**

"First things first," Hermione announced solemnly.

"Yeah," Ron nodded vigorously. "Bottle – check. Mouth – check. Hermy – check."

"But what about me?" Harry whined.

"You can look after yourself. You're the Boy Who Lived and Lived and Lived."

Draco silently agreed with the Weasel.

"I didn't mean that," she huffed, and took out a journal and a quill. "I meant this."

"You mean we can read your diary now?" Ron exclaimed. "Oh, goodies. I always wanted to get into a girl."

_Oh, for the love of Heaven, _Draco raised his glance to the starry sky. _Please make them pass out really, really soon._

"Into a girl's mind, I mean," the Weasel corrected hastily.

Hermione was either really drunk enough to believe it, or really drunk enough not to care because she removed her evil glare from her friend and opened the book.

"_Kirjuta yles_," she told it and immediately the quill sprung into the air and positioned itself with the tip against the paper.

"It's Friday, August the 12th, the Year of Voldemort's Destruction," she dictated and smiled as the quill wrote it down in perfect handwriting and mauve ink. "Here, into the ruins of Hogwarts have gathered Harry 'The Hero' Potter, Ron 'The Redhair' Weasley, Hermione 'The Bookworm' Granger and Draco 'The Ferret' Malfoy. And our conversation tonight will be as follows."

Draco 'The Ferret' Malfoy gave the journal a curious glance.

"It records all our sayings?" he asked.

"Not only," Hermione grinned. "Watch!"

She raised the bottle to her lips and took a great gulp of it, then beckoned him closer for a look.

There on the white page, just under Hermione's introduction stood a couple of lines of colourful writing.

The first line was written in silver:

_Draco: It records all our sayings?_

Next was lilac.

_Hermione: Not only. Watch! (takes a large mouthful_ _from her bottle of drink)_

"Pretty clever, Granger."

"Thanks. Ron got red for his hair and Harry claimed green for his eyes. I took lilac because I like it, and you probably got grey for both your gorgeous silver hair and eyes."

And then she giggled.

Draco decided then and there that she was indeed drunk and not acting.

"Now that this has been taken care of, I think we should come up with a suitable name."

"Ronald Weasley!" Ron screamed.

"Harry Potter is much better!" Harry agrued.

"No, it isn't, it's far too famous."

"And that's bad because?"

"Well... I'm sure it's bad for something!"

"We are not naming the school after either one of you!"

"Hmm... How about Rorry Potsley then?"

"We have to include Hermy as well!"

"Hermy Rorry Potsley?"

"How about HuRuHu?"

"Heh?"

"Hu for Harry, Ru for Ron and Hu for Hermy."

"But I thought Hu was for Harry."

"The first Hu is for Harry, and the second for Hermy."

"But I'm not Hurry, and you're not Run and she is not Hurmy."

"Hurry & Run fits together pretty well. But Hurmy..."

"How about June? My middle name is Jane."

"But then it won't be HuRuHu anymore. Then it would be HuRuJu."

"JuHuRu sounds better."

"Why must I be the last again?"

"JuRuHu?"

"Perhaps we could leave our names out of it completely."

"Well, I'm not going to name it Drucu Mulfuy!"

Drucu Mulfuy presently took another sip of his butterbeer and sent an annoyed glace towards the lake and the white marble beside it.

_You **knew** it would happen! _

"How about Pink Elephant?"

"Why would you name a school that?"

"I dunno. Sounds cool."

"I study at the Pink Elephant. Welcome to the Pink Elephant. No, not for a school. Perhaps an inn, or something like that..."

"I thought we were going to found a school."

"We are, Run. So no Pink Elephants."

"Why can't we just name it Hogwarts?"

"Because then we would be refounding it, not just founding without the re."

"So?"

"Because we want to start a new era. A Voldyfree era."

"We do?"

"Yes."

"Hey! My bottle's empty! Who drank up all my bottle?"

"You did?"

"Oh yes. I'm going to kill me for that."

"Just take another one. You're so drunk you might miss and kill Hurry instead."

"How about Pigwarts?"

"Pigwarts? Pigwarts. Pigwarts! It's similar enough to Hogwarts but not too similar. It sounds quite nice. And it's symbolic, too. Just like a pig is the offspring of a hog, our school will be the descendant of Hogwarts. Excellent idea, Ron. Run, I mean."

"What was that, June? Pigwarts? Yeah, I like it. Let's ask Hurry as well."

"Ask me what?"

"Pigwarts."

"Heh?"

"The name."

"Whose name?"

"The school's."

"Which school's?"

"The one we are founding."

"We are founding a school?"

"Yes, Hurry, we are."

"Okey, then. And Pigwarts sounds cool. Good job coming up with that name, Hurmy."

"It's June. And it was Run's idea."

"No, it wasn't. It was June's. She is the smart one."

"It was not my idea."

Another couple of minutes passed by as the Trio tried to figure out that if it wasn't Hurry's, Run's nor June's idea then what would that mean.

"Whose idea was it then?" asked June at last.

But Hurry and Run had given up on the hard job of thinking a while ago, and had instead chosen the much easier job of drinking.

Looking down at their log and reading through the last lines, she found the correct place and smiled at the name there.

"I guess there's more to you, Drucu Mulfuy."

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_Kirjuta yles_ - 'write it down' in Estonian (I'm really bad at Latin) 

I hope you liked it! Now go and give me a nice inspiring review. And no need to try too hard - all your reviews inspire me. :P


	3. Not here?

**Thanks for all the reviews and inspiration. :D

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**Disclaimer:**_Harry Potter_ is not mine. But it's my right to refuse to write a funny disclaimer.

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**The Founding Of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos **

_**Chapter 3: Not here?**_

No other night had ever been this long for Draco. He almost wished to be rather in Azkaban than spend his time with three drunk Gryffindors. The idea of founding a new Wizarding School wasn't a bad idea, _per se_, and it was probably better than hearing Potty and Weasel wail about their miserable past without ever mentioning anything he could use to blackmail them later on, but even Granger was drunk, for crying out loud!

And it wasn't even funny, it was pure torture.

"We got a name, then," Ron suddenly slurred cutting through Harry's speech about the eating habits of his cousin Dudley, and everyone listening to it (which would be solely Draco) had to be ever grateful to him.

"Yes," Hermione started from her staring at the parchment and colourful lines appearing onto it.

"I guess we should decide the location next," she suggested.

"Not here?" Ron asked. Harry was not taking part of this conversation for he was still raving about Dudley, though in a fiery whisper now, fortunately.

"No. Because the School must symbolize a new beginning, a new peaceful era, and this place is more or less like a graveyard. A site of war. Something to be visited with respect and honour but let rest in peace."

Draco wondered how she could speak so eloquently and heartfully while pissed drunk, but perhaps people's behaviour during heavy inebriation varied greatly. He tried to remember what he had been like under such conditions, but all he could recall was the hell of a headache in the morning, and the taste of the helping potion.

Well, he could find it out now. Get drunk and in the morning read the log script. And hope that he would wake up before anyone else. It was not that Gryffindors would sink as low as blackmail, but it would still be pretty humiliating. Then again, he might be too drunk to take any notice of Potter's grand speeches. His current topic had moved far from Dudley into the debate of Cats vs Dogs.

"... you can throw cat out of the window and they should survive... except when they're Hermy's... then you wouldn't survive... not that I would ever throw a cat out of the window... but if I wanted... but I don't... I'm not cruel to animals... well, I was rather nasty to Nagini but that was simply because she was a Horcrux and I needed to destroy her... not her, but the one she served... the Big Bad Guy... in a way it was almost a self-defense... I am not an animal torturer, really..."

Hastily making his decision, Draco threw away his empty butterbeer bottle and grabbed a Firewhisky. After that, things did get better.

"We are not building Pigwarts in Greece!"

"Why not? I've always liked that country."

"Because we need a Wizarding School here, in England," she explained, managing to sound both patient and frustrated.

"London?"

"No, we need a countryside. Beautiful nature. Trees, hills, perhaps a lake, too. Freedom and space and green lawns."

"Sounds like the Manor," Draco said dreamily. That bottle of Firewhisky had really done him some good. And Hermione's words had painted a pleasant image of his home, on a sunny day in his childhood, when he had been happy and happily unaware of the world around him.

"Hermy?" Ron asked carefully. "You have that look again."

"What look?"

"That you have figured out something important but we are not going to like it."

"Well... I did get an idea," she admitted with a blush.

"And what's that?"

"We could... establish the school... in Malfoy Manor."

"NO!"

"Great idea!"

"... but dogs are loyal... though Crookshanks was loyal, too... and Mrs Norris, as well, I suppose... "

"I live there, I beg your pardon!"

"But it's only you, and the place is huge, as I've heard. And it would be good for you to donate it for such a noble cause. Really, it would help your reputation a lot. You know, all that Death Eater stuff... some people are still suspicious and all..."

"Let them be as suspicious as they want! I live there! My family has had that house for generations. I'm not giving it away however noble the cause might be."

"Please, Malfoy?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Can't we take it away from the Ferret legally? Harry could pull some strings in the Ministry and..."

"What?" Draco exclaimed. He really didn't like that idea.

"Please, Draco."

The look she was giving him melted him right then and there. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to get drunk after all. Because if she kept looking at him like that, he would soon promise her everything.

Remember, Draco, you're a bastard. Bastard. Act like a bastard. Call her Mudblood or something.

It didn't help.

"I don't..."

"We'll put up a statue in the front yard in your honour!" she cried out.

"A statue of a ferret!" Ron added joyfully.

"What?" Draco exclaimed again, in that same high-pitched girly voice that he only used when drunk with three drunk Gryffindors who suggested something he wasn't much fond of.

"Not a ferret," Hermione said quickly. "A dragon. Deal?"

And she held out her hand for him. After a few failed tries he took it, suppressing the feeling that he had just sold his soul to the Devil.

Oh well. The Devil should be on _his_ side.

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	4. The Four Founders

**Hugs and cookies and many, many thanks to all of you who read or reviewed. Chocolate and balloons to those who did both. :D**

**For whatever reason, last time I submitted this chapter it simply did not show up. So I deleted it and added again, and I hope that this time it works. **

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**Disclaimer:** Tu sei J. K. Rowling? No, no sono J. K. Rowling.

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**The Founding Of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos**

_**Chapter 4: The Four Founders**_

"What about Houses?" Harry inquired in a while. He seemed to have made an agreement with Ron about being really drunk and talking nonsense in turns. Although Ron kept quiet, looking at the sky above and giving out small huffs once in a while.

Which was much, much, much better than Harry's monologue about Cats versus Dogs.

"Perhaps we shouldn't have them," Hermione mused. "Then we don't have inter-house rivalry and separation, and all that bad stuff."

"Perhaps," Harry nodded. "But there was some reason for all the houses, about completing and complimenting people with the same traits of character. And if we want to make it like Hogwarts, in its memory, then we should have houses all the same."

"We can't have the same names," she argued now. "Those were the four founders of that school, but not of the new one."

"No. But there's four of us, just like there was four of them. We can each pick a former House and name it after ourselves, but perhaps keep the traits and colours the same."

"Slytherin!" Draco claimed quickly.

"Gryffindor!" Harry cried out, whether deliberately or only to oppose the last one.

"Ravenclaw, I guess," Hermione muttered. "That leaves Hufflepuff to Ron. I hope he doesn't mind. Much."

All glances turned towards Ron who was still staring at the stars and humming something under his breath.

"Ron," Harry poked him in the ribs with his elbow.

"What?" the red-hair averted his gaze from above and looked at his friend.

"Hufflepuff?" Hermione offered.

"Mind if I have one," he accepted. "I think my bottle is empty already."

"No, the houses," she explained patiently.

"Gingerbread houses? Well, I am slightly hungry now that you mention it, but…"

"The Four Houses of Hogwarts," she pressed through clenched teeth, wondering how he managed to be this annoying after the amount of alcohol he had consumed. For her knowledge, they all should have passed out some fair time ago. Or perhaps someone had done something to their drinks, made them less inebriating, or something. Good idea as it was, they hadn't probably considered the idea that sometimes it was better to drink oneself unconscious. Or let someone else do it, at least.

"What about them?" Ron inquired, his gaze slowly turning upwards again. What the hell did he find so interesting about the night's sky? He had never been a fan of Astronomy.

"Congratulations," Malfoy smirked. "You got Hufflepuff."

"Oh, lucky me," he answered with a lopsided smile. "Thanks, Ferret."

When it seemed clear that he wasn't going to add anything, Harry continued their discussion.

"Ok, that's checked. Next?"

"How do we sort people?" Hermione wondered.

"I thought about that," Harry admitted. "I thought we could make it easy and sort people by their hair colour, or perhaps the colour of their eyes."

"Yes," she said slowly, considering that thought. "This seems easy. But remember what Dumbledore used to say?"

"Would you care for a lemon drop?" Harry guessed.

"No, thanks. He said that there is the easy way and the right way. Your idea is indeed easy, but not right. We are supposed to sort people by their character, not appearance. Besides, red as a colour of hair and green for eyes is rather rare, and that way certain houses would be overflowing while other have only a couple of people."

"So all the stupid blonde bimbos do not end up in Malfoy's House? What a shame."

"Hey!" Malfoy protested. "That's discrimination. All blondes are not stupid. Look at me."

They did.

"So a person who is sitting in the ruins of their former school and getting drunk with three of his least favourite people is not stupid at all?"

"At least I'm not a bimbo!"

They looked at him again, and shrugged.

"I'm not a bimbo!" Draco cried again, using that same high-pitched girlish voice.

They ignored him.

"I suppose we could use the same old Sorting Hat then," Harry said.

"The Sorting Hat was lost with the School, Harry," Hermione reminded him sadly.

"If so then what is that Ron is sitting on?"

They looked.

It was the Sorting Hat.

"Problem solved," Harry smiled. "I love it when a plan comes together."

All of a sudden Ron leapt to his feet, giving Hermione the perfect opportunity to snatch the Sorting Hat away from his former sitting place, and, in the absence of a better plan, she simply threw it to Draco who happened to be sitting by her side.

"I don't want to be a giant wasp!" Ron screamed at the top of his lungs.

"You are not a giant wasp," Hermione reassured him, rolling her eyes at the same time, a bit curious though about where he had got that idea.

"I will be," Ron said. "Hufflepuffs are all giant wasps with their yellow and black. I don't want all the Weasleys to be giant wasps."

"No, you want them to be weasels."

For once Ron didn't rise for the bait. Perhaps he didn't feel like fighting right now. Perhaps he was too worried about the issue at hand. Perhaps the Firewhisky had given him some taste of maturity. Or perhaps he simply didn't hear it.

"Oh, come one guys. Yellow and black don't go together!"

"He's right, though," Hermione agreed in a second. "What will it be then?"

"Yellow and white?" Harry suggested.

"No, that makes them too bright. Too angelic. And too painful to look at."

"Hufflepuffs are always painful to look at," Malfoy announced almost sacredly.

"So are ferrets," Hermione mumbled under her breath.

"Of course if they all look like giant wasps," Ron nodded enthusiastically.

"Yellow and purple?"

"Too… purple."

"What's wrong with purple?"

"It's… purple."

"It's too red, and Gryffindor has red."

"Purple is not red! Purple is purple!"

"How about dark mauve and yellow?"

"What's mauve?"

"Pink."

"Mauve isn't pink. Mauve is mauve. And dark mauve is… dark mauve. Brownish, purplish…"

"Orange!"

"No yellow and orange!"

"We'll decide it later!"

"Fine."

"Fine!"

"FINE!"

"What are we talking about, anyway?"

"Umm… Ron, what were we talking about?"

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
How I wonder what you are.  
Up above the world so high,  
Like a diamond in the sky.  
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
How I wonder what you are!"

Draco, who had now come to the conclusion that the only thing worse than Potter monologuing was Weasley singing, pressed his hands to his ears, and when that didn't work, grabbed the Sorting Hat Hermione had thrown to him earlier and pulled it on.

'Well, well, well, what do we have here' a voice spoke to his ear in a wholly ridiculing and obnoxious tone. He was quite familiar with this kind of tone, but usually it came from his mouth and was directed at someone else. Being the recipient of it this time, he felt exactly as awful as he hoped to make those with whom he was using that tone.

_Says the one who has spent the last few hours under Weasley's ass_, Draco thought back.

'Says the one who put something that has spent the last few hours under Weasley's ass onto his head quite voluntarily,' the voice sniggered.

_Yes, well, you wouldn't say this if you had heard Weasley singing_, he answered, trying not to let his tone shake as the Hat's last sentence made its way into his mind slowly but steadily.

The voice merely snickered, and Draco gave it a mental scowl.

'I remember you, Draco Put-Me-Into-Slytherin-Or-I'll-Cut-You-Into-Little-Pieces-And-Feed-You-To-My-House-Elves Malfoy.'

_Father told me that threats not only always get one further than bribery, but also cost less._

'I suppose he would say that. I should have put you into Hufflepuff just for the spite.'

_Hey! That's not very nice of you!_

'And why should I be nice?'

_It's the Gryffindor way, after all, is it not?_

'And why should **I** act like a Gryffindor?'

_Because you are the hat of Godric Gryffindor._

'Indeed I am,' the Hat said and paused, as if thinking whether it should say more or not. Draco who saw it for what it was – a dramatic pause – kept quiet and waited for more, since he was indeed quite intrigued, and anything was better than Weasley singing.

'But do you know where Godric got me?' it asked mysteriously at last.

_From a village shop?_

'Not quite. He got it as a present from his best friend.'

_So what?_

'His best friend at that time was Salazar Slytherin.'

_Well I'll be damned._

'I suppose you are. Now, I think you should take me off. Weasley has stopped singing.'

_Oh, good._

Draco pulled the Hat off just in time to hear Ron singing the forth and fortunately the last verse of his little song.

"In the dark blue sky you keep,  
While you thro' my window peep,  
And you never shut your eye,  
Till the sun is in the sky,  
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,  
How I wonder what you are!"

_Definitely Slytherin tendencies_, he thought sourly, giving the Sorting Hat an accusatory glare and almost hearing it laugh quietly at him.

"Hmm… I didn't know it had more than one verse," Harry commented, and from the tone of his voice and the look on his face, Draco realized he had not been the only one who thought Weasley should be deported to Hong Kong if he ever tried to sing again.

"I did," Hermione said way too cheerfully.

"Know-It-All."

"Ferret."

"Scarface."

"Weasel."

"Harry, did you just call Ron 'Weasel'?"

"Umm… did you just call me 'Scarface'?"

"Did you just call me 'Ferret'?" Draco decided to join in the fun.

"YES!"

"Oh…"

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**Reviews will make me happy!**


	5. Gotcha!

**Author's Note:**

Everyone who hasn't noticed yet, the genre of this story is humor/romance. Those who have noticed, and are wondering when the romance begins, then the answer is from this chapter forward. :) Enjoy!

**Sunshine and rainbows and pink fluffy bunnies to all my wonderful readers and reviewers. :D  
**

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**Disclaimer:** Evething that belongs to J. K. Rowling, like _Harry Potter_, belongs to J. K. Rowling, not to me.

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**The Founding Of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos**

**Chapter 5: Gotcha!**

As the night waned on, the supply of the alcohol grew smaller and smaller, and people started to make less and less sense. Ron had tried to take up singing again, Draco had even managed to point his wand at him before a giggling Hermione had snatched it away from him and refused to give it back. Then Harry, the Saviour of Wizardkind once more, had pointed out that it was rather difficult to sing and drink at the same time, even though singing and drinking seemed always to have some kind of link between them. But Ron had believed his friend, and instead taken up poetry, reciting which sounded like love poems to Harry.

This was almost as bad as his singing, for he wasn't too good at poetry and not knowing the correct lines (or any lines at all), he simply made everything up as he went. And even though Ron wasn't as loud as he had been before, Draco decided that if he had to hear one more time 'how the whole wide world reflected from Harry's glasses and how his eyes were green as the grass Ron would love to rest upon or perhaps the waters of distant seas which would cool and soothe his troubled self' he would simply either throw up or kill himself.

Something was poking him into the shoulder. When all his attempts to shoo it away had failed, he finally gave up and turned his head.

"What is it, Granger?" he asked wearily, trying to shoo her away, and failing once again.

"It's nice to lie down in grass or play with the waves of the sea, but it's also nice to sit on the balcony and stare at heavy rain clouds. Grey as liquid silver."

And she gave him a smile which would have qualified as seductive on anyone else. On Granger, it just looked a bit disturbing.

"What?" he asked, trying to move away from her. He did manage that, until there was nothing but solid stone on his one side, and a smiling Hermione still on the other.

"I said our little school will need a staff as well," she spoke, trying to look innocent, and like in everything (save flying a broom and baking cheese-cake) excelling 107 percent.

"Oh," said Draco merely, concluding that he had probably misheard the last time.

"Ok, then, who do you have in mind?"

"Well," Hermione started, giving him that disturbing smile once again. "We all need to teach something as well. And someone can be the headmaster."

"Let me guess, you take Muggle Studies."

"Let me guess," she retorted, her voice even more acid than his, "you take Potions."

"Are you still angry at me because you were every Professor's favourite save Snape, who liked me more?"

"He favoured you only because you were in Slytherin."

"So?"

"That was unfair."

"Yes, it was."

"You mean you admit it?" she asked with surprise.

"That Snape was biased? Of course I admit it. Even a fool would see that."

"Yes, well."

"Besides, I was thinking about taking Arithmancy instead."

"Oh no you don't!" she pointed his wand at him in a way which would have qualified threatening had she not held it the wrong end towards him.

"And why not?" he questioned.

"Because I'm teaching Arithmancy!" she said with iron finality.

"I claimed it first," Draco argued.

"I thought about it first."

"But I spoke it first."

"It was my idea to found the school," she countered.

"It's my Manor the school is founded into."

"I'm the one armed here."

"And you're holding the wand with its tip towards yourself."

Hermione looked down, noticed he was right, and quickly flipped the wand around, managing to drop it and pick up again in the process.

"And I'm the one who came up with the name," Draco added.

"We'll discuss it later," she waved with her right hand, blue and silver sparkles emitting from the wand she was holding.

"Give me that," he went to snatch his wand back, but she moved her hand back. He bent forwards again, but she moved even further away. Losing his patience, Draco lunged at her, knocking her to the ground and trapping her with his weight, rendering her unable to slip away this time. He stretched out his hand to grab the wand when he suddenly realized... well, many things.

Like the fact that he was currently lying on top of her, that she smelled like apples, that he could see stars reflecting from her eyes, that her hot breath sent shivers down his spine, that his other hand was currently against the silky skin of her neck, that she was smiling up at him and he had never seen anything quite that beautiful.

That although getting drunk with intoxicated Gryffidors was perhaps not as **bad** as he had thought, it sure was dangerous as hell.

That he was going to kiss her right then and there, in the ruins of Hogwarts under the starry sky, in full view of Pothead and Weasel.

That he couldn't care less whether her idiotic friends were going to kill him for that later or not.

He moved his face closer and closer and closer, slowly enough to give her an opportunity to protest, which she didn't.

"Hermione," he whispered gently against her lips.

"Draco," she purred at him. "Promise me you are not going to teach Arithmancy."

He was too caught up in the moment, and the feel of her lips, and her breath, and her soft skin under his palms to fully comprehend what she was asking.

"I promise," he said simply, and kissed her, sending a jolt of pleasure through both of their bodies, and gold and silver sparks from the wand between their now entwined fingers.

"Rose-maiden, no, I do not quarrel  
With these dear chains, they don't demean.  
The nightingale embushed in laurel,  
The sylvan singers' feathered queen,  
Does she not bear the same sweet plight?  
Near the proud rose's beauty dwelling,  
And with her tender anthems thrilling  
The dusk of a voluptuous night."

"That sounded..." Ron faltered for words, since he couldn't say he had understood the poem very well, but at least it had rhymed.

"...nice," he said at last. "All right, my turn. The last letter was T, so mine has to start with a T. Let's see..."

And so, in the heat of their love poems competition, Harry and Ron failed to notice the passionate kiss taking place right in front of them.

Draco finally pulled away, drawing himself up to a sitting position, with his back against the cool stone.

Oh sweet Salazar, that was one hell of a kiss.

But it was wrong. He wasn't quite sure why it was wrong, since the firewhisky was finally getting to him, but he a vague feeling that he would have never done it without the alcohol. Which really would have been his loss. Which only proved that alcohol was good. Really, really good, he decided, thinking back to the kiss.

"So, Arithmancy is mine," Hermione said matter-of-factly leaning into his side instead of the cold jagged rock.

It took him a moment to realize what she had said, as the school and everything else had left his mind for a while.

"It's mine," he argued, not going to let her get her will just because she could kiss. "I claimed it first."

"But you also promised me you wouldn't teach it," she said sweetly, making doe-eyes at him.

"I never promised..."

Oh. Drat.

He looked down at her and could see the wicked glint in her gaze, also a smirk forming on her lips.

"Gotcha!" she gave him a seductive smile.

Oh sweet Salazar, he had been tricked. By a Gryffindor, no less. If sweet Salazar were still alive, he'd be anything but sweet. To think about it, he wasn't too sweet while dead, either.

Somewhere between his horrifying thoughts, Hermione had decided that it would be much more comfortable to lie down with her head in his lap, and had done exactly that, smiling up at him too cutely to let him be mad at her.

"I'll get Arithmancy, you can have whatever you want, Herbology will go to Neville, he is really good at it. Susan Bones is good at Transfiguration, I know, she turned Colin Creevey into a squirrel once, when he was trying to get a photograph of her kissing Justin. Then Charms... Charms... let me see... Charms goes to... Terry Boot because he can be very charming if he tries to..."

Draco felt a stab of something that was not, was not, was not... ok, something that **was** jealousy.

"So that leaves Potions, History of Magic, Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures," she summed up. "Make your choice before you have been left only Muggle Studies."

"You forgot Divination," Draco said.

Her scowl was the indicator that she had not so much forgotten it but rather conveniently left out from her list, but now that he mentioned it, she didn't protest.

"So, what will you pick?" she asked curiously.

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "Who else do you have in mind?"

"Ginny told me once she likes animals so... she can probably take Magical Creatures. Luna might be talked into taking Astronomy since her name goes together with it nicely. I know Dean wanted to go into professional Quidditch, but perhaps I can convince him otherwise..."

"Why do all the Professors have to be your friends?"

"They're not all Gryffindor," she commented.

"Well, none of them is Slytherin also."

"So, who would you recommend then?" she queried.

"For example, I know that Blaise Zabini is good at Ancient Runes, and Millicent Bulstrode loves Potions. And Daphne Greengrass once predicted the week long absence of Marcus Flint, although I suspect she slipped something nasty into his drink."

"So this leaves you History of Magic or Muggle Studies," Hermione snickered.

Draco frowned. That was not much of a choice.

"Perhaps I can give Flying lessons," he suggested.

"That's it!" she exclaimed and lifted her finger into the air triumphantly, raising her head from his lap much to his dislike.

"What's it?" he asked carefully when she rearranged her position, sitting now with crossed feet in front of him, practically beaming with joy.

"We need more subjects for our school than just those," she explained. "We should have some others too, like Muggles have. PE, for example."

"Pee?" he made a disgusted face. "I knew Muggles were savages, but to teach something like that at school..."

"No, you git," she hit his arm none too gently. "Not pee, P.E. Physical Education. It's doing sports. Running and playing games and swimming and things like that."

"Well, you really are great in acronyms," he sneered at her, trying to disguise his embarrassment, even thought there was no need, for who in their right mind would call sports like that. "First spew, and now pee."

"It's not my creation," she huffed indignantly. "But we can call it Sports here, if that makes you happy."

"Very," he snapped back.

"So we can teach Flying and Quidditch in Sports. And then we could have Music lesson and form our own choir," she spoke with way too much enthusiasm.

"And who is going to do that?"

"Well, believe it or not, Grawp can actually sing pretty nicely."

Draco shuddered. He had had the pleasure of meeting Hagrid's baby brother, unfortunately.

"If Grawp can sing, then Crabbe knows everything."

"Deal," Hermione said quickly.

"What?"

"Well, we do need a History of Magic teacher. And since Grawp can really sing, I guess Crabbe will get the job."

Draco frowned. He really shouldn't have said that. But then again, it was not possible to have a teacher worse than Binns. Or Grawp for that matter.

"I have a better deal for you, Granger," he said suddenly, his tone turning smooth and sly.

"What?" she asked warily.

"I'll let you pick a subject for me, if I get to choose one for you."

"But... I have Arithmancy."

"Sure you are capable of taking an extra subject?"

"Of course, but..."

"Scared?" he grinned.

"Never. You're on, Malfoy."

"Great. Because you are the next Flying and Quidditch Professor!" he announced with a smirk.

"But I hate to fly," she wailed.

"Too bad for you," he laughed haughtily at her.

"Fine," Hermione grinned back.

Draco did not like her expression one bit. It meant trouble. For him.

"And you, Draco darling, will be our new Muggle Studies Professor."

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**A/N: **The poem is by Aleksandr Pushkin. And yes, it is probably way too difficult for a drunk person to recite, but I'm way too lazy for my own good, so let's just pretend Harry has some hidden talents. ;) 

And if someone wonders why they simply don't ask Hogwarts' teachers to teach at Pigwarts, then it's because I decided they are all dead. Or if that sounds too cruel then they are all enjoying their retirement in Aruba. Or Hawaii. Or Saaremaa.

**REVIEW !  
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	6. Headmaster and HouseElves

**Author's Note**

Banana splits and strawberry muffins to all those wonderful amazing awesome fantastic phenomenal people who cared to leave me a review. :) And those who read but didn't review.. well.. no banana splits or strawberry muffins to you. Aah, I can't be that cruel. Have some apple pie.

Something I forgot to mention in the last chapter - the idea of turning Colin into a squirrel is not mine, but belongs to my divine beta, Genetic Island.

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**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ or a grape? Hmm, I think I'll take that grape. So now I have a grape, but no _Harry Potter_. I wonder, did I make the right choice?

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**The Founding Of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos**

**_Chapter 6: Headmaster and House-Elves_**

Draco was not very happy with the end result of their little deal. Then again, he was not very happy about having a Giant as a teacher either. Although, on the other hand, Hagrid had been not that much trouble at all, and this meant he would see Hermione flying a broom and playing Quidditch. Or at least trying to.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but suddenly he was feeling pretty good. He was comfortable despite sitting in the middle of a great pile of fallen rock in the company of Potter and Weasley. Well, that was definitely because of the alcohol. Luckily for him, those too morons were too drunk to punch him.

He couldn't think too straight at the moment, but the fact that he didn't like those two and the feeling was mutual, was something burnt into his brain too strongly for any amount of Firewhisky to dissolve.

Granger, however, was a different matter. Especially with her lying across his lap once more, twirling his wand between her fingers and letting out coloured sparkles at random.

They had been quiet for a while already, each thinking their own thoughts, or at least minding their own business. His bottle of Firewhisky had been empty for some time now, but he couldn't reach for another from his current position, and was far too comfortable to move.

After all, he was lying under starry night sky, the mild breeze refreshing and caressing him, and a beautiful girl lying in his arms. What more could he hope for?

"Crazy, crazy, I am too lazy, will you, will you bring me a daisy, crazy, crazy, I am too lazy, will you, will you bring me a daisy, crazy, crazy, I am too lazy, will you, will you bring me a daisy, crazy, crazy..."

NO! Anything but that! Like Weasley singing was not enough, now he was singing something that felt like an endless song.

Oh, Merlin, HELP!

Merlin didn't help. But Harry, once again showing off his tendencies to play a hero and save somebody, although Draco couldn't think of it as a bad thing right now, did.

"Oranges or dolphins?" he asked out of the blue.

Ron took a few minutes to consider this.

"Oranges," he spoke at last. "Taste better."

"Your turn," Harry nudged him when he failed to form his own question.

"Erm..." Ron looked around helplessly. "Stars or... or.. or ferrets?"

Hermione burst into laugh. Draco scowled. She only laughed harder.

"Stars," Harry said firmly. "You?"

"Ditto. Hermy?"

She tried to control her giggles, and when she finally managed that, turned her face upwards to see him still frowning.

"I'm pretty happy with my ferret here."

And he could see stars in her eyes once again.

"Ewww!" Ron and Harry announced loudly, exchanging a glance that was not as meaningful as it wanted to be.

"Sheep or elephant?" Harry asked after a while, and the boys got caught up in their 'fascinating' new game, while Hermione and Draco continued doing what they had done before.

"Oh no!" she exclaimed suddenly, but quiet enough not to draw the others' attention.

"What?" he frowned.

"We forgot Ron. When we applied the teachers, we forgot Ron."

"So?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"So I suppose I can't be the Flying and Quidditch instructor any more. Too bad," she didn't even try to hide her delight about the situation.

"Oh no, Granger, you are not going to wriggle out of this one. You said before that you hoped to be able to convince some of your Gryffindor buddy to teach something instead of following a professional Quidditch career. Let me tell you, Granger, no sane person in the world would trade Quidditch for teaching. So you have no other option than make do with Weasley."

Her sly smile told him that she had noticed another option, and he was not going to like it.

"I know what Ron will do – he's going to be the Headmaster!" she stated happily.

"Weasley – the Headmaster? Do you know what you are talking about? Ruling over a school is a difficult and responsible job, it's not for dummies!"

She extracted herself quickly from his embrace and gave him an icy glare.

"I'll let you know that Ron is much more capable you could ever imagine. For once, he has great strategical and organizing skills, just what a good leader needs!" she defended her friend.

"Weasley? Ronald Weasley?" he sneered. "Are we talking about the same person here?"

Hermione had jumped to her feet.

"You don't know what you are talking about! Do you know who made all our battle plans? Who helped us train and prepare? Who thought up new tactics how better use our forces against Voldemort? What were you doing then? Running after your crazy Master and blowing innocent people to pieces!"

She expected him to get mad at her, to shout, to yell. But all he did was rise to his feet, a bit shakily thought, and answer her glare.

Hermione didn't know how long they had been standing there like that, although her feet were getting a bit tired, and she had to lean onto the stone beside her, when Harry and Ron finally noticed their friend's (and enemy's) positions.

If they had been sober, or at least less drunk, they would have jumped to her defense and told Malfoy to get lost.

Now they simply had the insolence to shake their heads at them, and look at them as if they were naughty children. Which was really too much, since it was **them** who usually behaved like that.

"Now, now," Harry shook his finger at them. "No fighting in corridors, or you get both detention."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, talking with utmost seriousness. "Be good kids now – kiss and make up."

And that they did. Literally.

This time Ron didn't make a face or noise of disgust. Instead he watched with curiosity and something else.

"Nobody kisses me," he complained at last.

Harry looked at his friend's miserable expression, then to Hermione and Draco still kissing, back to Ron again, trying to reach a decision.

After a while he gave up thinking, shrugged, and gave Ron a sloppy kiss on his lips.

---

"I'll agree with Weasley being the Headmaster on one condition," Draco said with a smirk, after they had pulled apart and sat down again, his arms around her.

"What condition?" she asked, shooting green sparks from his wand and making them form a spiral.

"We use House-Elves."

"All right," she agreed quickly, to his great surprise. "On one condition."

"Yes, I already said I'd welcome Weasley as the Headmaster."

"Not that."

"Then what?" he inquired. "We can pay them and give them free days if you really want it."

"Yes, of course. But that's not what I want."

"What do you want then?"

"I want to kiss you again," she said, and proceeded to do just that.

"I guess I can live with that," he smiled.

"You better," she teased. "But that was not my condition. I want people to appreciate House-Elves, to respect them for what they do, to understand their hard work and treat them nicely."

"You want to make SPEW into an obligatory subject?"

"Kind of. I want every student to spend some days doing the elves' work with them. I want them to do it without a wand or magic. I want them to cook, and clean, and do the dishes. I want them all to do it until they learn to treat the House-Elves with respect."

"On one condition, Granger."

"What's that?"

"Kiss me."

She did.

"That's all?" she sounded surprised. "You agree that easily?"

"You're worth it."

_Besides, _Draco thought, _that sounded exactly like having detentions. I suppose I should give out a lot of them to make her happy. Suits me fine. _

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Or I'll haunt your dreams with that my very own endless song made specifically to annoy people and drive them insane. Crazy, crazy, I am too lazy, will you, will you give me that daisy, crazy, crazy... (evil grin)


	7. How To Be Drunk

**Author's Note: **About this thing that happened between Harry & Ron in the previous chapter, you don't have to worry about it - nothing will come out of it. Nothing like _that_, anyway.

**_Big thanks to all my readers & reviewers! You rock, people. :P_****  
**

**

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****Disclaimer: **You don't read these disclaimers, do you? So I shouldn't stare at it for five minutes trying and failing to come up with something humorous? I can just say that _Harry Potter _is not mine and be done with this. **  
**

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**The Founding Of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos**

**_Chapter 7: How To Be Drunk_**

"I'm bored!" Ron whined, hanging on to his last bottle of Firewhisky like his life depended on it.

"I'm out of mead," Harry said calmly, and looked around for the rest of their supply of alcohol, which consisted of three halves of bottles of Firewhisky and a lonely bottle of Butterbeer lying forgotten on the ground by Ron.

He would have preferred the Firewhisky, really, but he figured that since all those half a bottles of Firewhisky had an owner, and taking away their bottle by force would equal struggle during which the bottle would certainly fall to the ground and break, and then he would not only get his ass kicked (because, you see, drunk people tend to get violent), but be left drinkless as well since the one who kicked his ass would probably go for that last bottle of Butterbeer while he was busy with lying on the ground in a bloody mess.

But he needed a drink, and he needed it soon, for all this thinking was starting to give him hell of a headache.

So he bent forward and reached over Ron for that last and lonely bottle of Butterbeer, which alas! was a bit too far away.

Not in the mood to get up and fall back down, which he was certain would happen if he did stand up, he poked Ron in the shoulder and pointed towards it instead.

"Butterbeer," he said when Ron had spent a few minutes looking in the direction, tilting his head this way and that way, still unsure what he was supposed to see there.

"No, thanks," Ron raised his bottle. "I've already got something."

"No, for me, I meant," Harry explained.

"NO!" Ron screeched and pulled away from Harry, hugging his bottle defensively. "My bottle. My whisky. My precious."

"No. I'm not going to take away your bottle. Nobody is. All I want is you to give me that bottle of Butterbeer from over there."

But Ron didn't listen. Instead he was petting his bottle, giving it the fool-in-love look, and whispering sweet words of nonsense to it.

Harry suddenly felt himself very lucky. He wasn't quite sure, but he suspected that if Ron didn't have the bottle to express his eternal love to, he might have grabbed the next closest object to him, and that happened to be Harry himself.

He shivered and quickly shook that thought away. It was easier not to think, anyway.

"My darling," Ron spoke gently. "My sweetheart. My honey. My munchkin. My sugarloop. My hunny-bunny. My love."

"Let's go swimming!" Harry exclaimed suddenly. He wasn't too sure where that idea had come from, but he supposed it had something to do with the fact that since Firewhisky was liquid and water was liquid as well, therefore water was Firewhisky. Or something like that.

"Perhaps we should call it a night," Draco suggested. As much as he liked the idea of Potter in the bottom of the lake, he had sort of promised to Dumbledore to look after the Trio tonight; besides, in his current state he might be just drunk enough himself to try to save him, and end up in the bottom of the lake as well. With Potter. Ewww!

"I don't wanna call it a night!" Ron shouted, raising his darling bottle to the stars. "I wanna call it a day! Or a hippogriff! And I wanna sing! Sing! SING!"

"You don't want to sing, Ron," Hermione convinced him. "You really don't want to sing. You really don't want to sing. You really don't want to sing. And, like I said before, you really don't want to sing."

"Oh yes I do!" Ron exclaimed happily. "We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine. We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine."

"Yes, Harry, swimming sounds like a terrific idea!" she agreed quickly and stood up.

And fell right down, of course, just like Harry had predicted. Fortunately for her, she landed on Draco.

"Bad idea!" she remarked, although not wholly unhappily since she had, after all, landed on Draco. "I guess we have to crawl then. Where was the door again?"

"You really shouldn't go," the last voice of reason told her.

"But Draco! I wanna go! I wanna go! I wanna go!"

The Slytherin, however, only pulled her closer, and took her hand in his, whispering something into her ear.

"_Kuplikene, kata meid_."

Just as Hermione was about to return the statement, cyan light erupted from the tip of his wand and slowly formed a translucent dome over and around them.

She looked at it in awe for a moment, then picked up a random cobble and threw it at the newly formed wall, frowning as it bounced right back and she realized what he had done.

But the cupola was pretty lovely. She stared up at it and at the stars behind it, which now were all a little bluish.

"We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine. We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine, oh-juhh-haa-hey!"

"You can do all this magic, but not a simple spell to shut Ron up?" Hermione accused.

"At least the dome won't kick my ass for me casting it."

She considered the statement and found it true. Not that it made much sense why it should prove his inability to _Silence_ Ron, but it seemed true nonetheless.

"Do you know my Aunt Marge?" a voice spoke into his ear, and Draco was horrified to find Potter sitting by his side, where Hermione had been before she had relocated herself into his lap, and looking at him with puppy-dog eyes.

"No," Draco said warily and tried to move away, which didn't succeed of course since on his other side was tons of solid mass of rock.

"Well, you know my Aunt Marge," Potter continued, paying no attention to Draco's frightened look or his attempts to push himself through stone. "My Aunt Marge, you know, I used to hate her before. Well, perhaps not really hate, but strongly dislike. I mean, she wasn't my enemy #1, at least not after I came to Hogwarts, then I got all these brand new enemies of my own, like Voldy, and Snape... and, well, you, too. Don't take it personally, but I really hated your guts. You know, I think I kind of still do, but that doesn't matter. We were talking about my Aunt Marge. What a great lady she is, really. I mean, she is huge. She was huge even before I inflated her like a balloon, although that look kind of even suited her. But she is a great lady, and she has twelve dogs. I mean, twelve dogs. You really have to be a great lady to have twelve dogs. I mean, you have to be bigger than all those dogs together. Or else you'll end up in a tree with Ripper barking at you. So you really have to be a great lady. Like Aunt Marge. A great, great lady."

"Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine, you are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine!" Ron threw his empty bottle into the air, gave a stupid smile, and was promptly knocked out as the same bottle landed on his head. No one else noticed. They just felt kind of relieved suddenly.

"You know, Malfoy," Harry said. "You are really not as bad as I thought you would be. I mean, you're quite decent and everything. And Hermione seems to like you a lot. And well, I was thinking here, that for her sake, perhaps we should try to be... you know... civil, or something like that."

"Does that mean you will tell me more about your Aunt Marge?"

"Sure, if you want to!"

"No! Not that! Anything but that!"

"Hmm..." Harry seemed to think. "I promise not to tell you anything about Aunt Marge, the great lady she is, if you give me a mouthful of your drink."

Draco looked at his bottle and back to Harry, more than a little reluctant. He realized very well that Potter had a rather large mouth (his previous behaviour had pretty much proved that) and giving him his bottle would be saying bye-bye to it.

"You know my Aunt Marge, don't you?" Harry began again. "Well, my Aunt Marge is a really great lady. She has twelve dogs, too. And she's really great. I mean, she is huge. But she has to be for all those dogs, you see. To control them, you see..."

Draco quickly handed his bottle over. After all, in the end he could convince Hermione to let him have some of hers, or simply kiss her when she has just taken a sip.

Harry grinned and proceeded with his newly required drink.

"And about that civility, Potter..."

"Nah, forget that," Harry spoke quickly between two gulps. "It was just a hoax to get that bottle from you. I never thought you would give it up so easily."

"You seem to have Slytherin tendencies, Potter."

"Sure. And you have Gryffindor tendencies."

"I don't know about tendencies," Hermione spoke before he could object fiercely to that. "But you do have a Gryffindor girl in your arms. One that would like to do a blondie right now."

Harry choked on his Firewhisky, coughing and spitting it out.

"No more for you today," Draco tried to keep his voice level and pry the bottle away from her fingers.

"What?" she asked, clearly confused and surprised.

"Yes, Hermione. That's enough for you. Don't you have this _thing_ the day after tomorrow?"

"Nope," she shook her head, and didn't let go of her drink.

"Yes, you do, Hermione. You do have that thing the day after tomorrow. You do have that thing the day after tomorrow. You do have that thing the day after tomorrow. And, like I said before, you do have that thing the day after tomorrow."

"Save it, Harry. It didn't work with Ron, it isn't going to work with me. Besides, why do you act like this? All I said is that I'd like to do a blondie right now. Don't you?"

Harry chocked on air this time.

"Hermione, you clearly don't know what you're saying right now..."

"What? What's so awful about some white wine?"

"Nothing," Harry shook his head and then regretted the action. "But what has white wine to do with anything?"

"I want it. That's what I said. You know... blondie... white wine... white... blond..."

Harry felt himself burst with relief.

"Oh! So when you said you wanted to do a blondie, you meant you wanted some white wine?"

"Of course, Harry. What else could I have meant with it? What did you think I meant with it?"

Harry blushed. Fortunately for him, it was too dark for anyone else to see it.

"Nothing," he said quickly.

And when Hermione didn't turn her evil and suspicious glare away from him, he decided to use his Slytherin tendencies once again, since last time they had worked wonderfully.

"But Malfoy here was having dirty thoughts about you."

"Really?" Hermione turned towards the blondie, who gulped and tried to look innocent.

"That's sweet," she cooed. "And I'd love to. But not here and now, all right? I mean, all these dreams I've had about this, Harry and Ron were never present."

Harry choked on nothing.

And Draco paled. But since he was pale anyway, nobody noticed.

"Now what?" Hermione questioned after a little while.

"What about the school?" Harry offered, glad about the change of subject. "Have you figured out yet which colour goes together with yellow?"

"Erm… no," she admitted. "But we got the teachers sorted out."

"Well, that's good," Harry said.

"And House-Elves," Draco added.

"None of those, I suppose."

"On the contrary."

"You convinced Hermione to have House-Elves?" Harry was shocked. "How the hell did you manage that?"

"Malfoy charm."

"Oh," Harry nodded. "That explains why we never got so far."

"How about yellow and brown?" suggested Hermione, who had spent the last couple of minutes thinking about that and therefore had missed all the House-Elf stuff, and saved Harry and Draco from long lectures about 'appreciating and respecting the elves for their hard jobs'.

"Like a bee?" Harry wondered.

"Like a sunflower," Hermione smiled.

"Like a bee, then," Harry concluded.

* * *

**A/N:**

_Kuplikene, kata meid_ - Little cupola, cover us

Don't worry about Ron, he's not hurt, just knocked out. He might have a killer headache when he wakes up for that, but it doesn't matter since he is going to have a killer headache anyway for all the alcohol he drank.

Big thanks to my beta for first pointing out that the Trio plus Ferret were not acting like drunk people and then providing me with a list of nine points of how people act while drunk. I didn't use all of them, but I don't think I could have come up with 'doing a blondie' without her help. So, GI, this chapter is for you. ;)

**REVIEW !**


	8. Blue Owl

**Author's Note: **I forgot what I wanted to say. Probably just thank thee for thy fair and bonny reviews. :)

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**Disclaimer: **I'm really not in the mood to write something amusing. So - _Harry Potter _is not mine.

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**The Founding Of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos**

**_Chapter 8: Blue Owl_**

"Anything else we need to decide about the school?" Harry yawned. The alcohol was all gone, Ron looked unconscious, and he was kind of sleepy as well. It seemed the best time to finally call it a night. Because, judging by the paling horizon, very soon it would not be a night at all.

"I don't think so," Hermione shrugged. "We got the name, the location, the subjects, the teachers… the Sorting Hat… oh, but we have no ghosts!"

"No Giant Squid," Harry added.

"No Peeves."

"Actually, we should be able to get Peeves back," Harry said. "I heard he is residing with Fred and George at the moment."

"No Filch."

"How awful," Draco quipped.

"Well, I kind of heard he is also residing with Fred and George."

"What? You must have heard wrong, Harry."

"No," he seemed rather confident. "I remember quite well them telling me that. After this place went down, Filch had nowhere to go, so Fred and George took him into their shop, to keep a keen eye on the customers while they are not around, and sometimes take orders and sell things as well. They get along quite well, I heard."

"Filch gets on quite well with Fred and George?"

"Yes."

"Filch?"

"Yes."

"With Fred and George."

"Yes."

"Quite well."

"Yes."

"Draco, has the word 'well' changed its meaning sometimes during this night?"

"Not that I know of. But a lot of things have changed during this night," he answered pensively.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "For example full bottles have changed into empty bottles."

"And Ron changed into a troubadour," he added after half a moment. "And then into a blacked out troubadour, which suits him a lot better. You turned into an oxymoron, and Malfoy turned out a lot nicer than I could have ever expected."

"Why am I an oxymoron?"

"You know – drunk Hermione," Harry snickered.

"Not funny," she frowned. "I have every right to get drunk whenever I feel like it."

"Of course you do," Draco reassured her, hiding his own grin.

"Of course I do," she nodded and calmed down. "What were we talking about?"

"Filch," Draco supplied.

"Oh yes, Filch," Harry continued. "Well, he isn't the same anymore. Ever since Mrs Norris left he has been a different person. Quiet. Absentminded. Pensive. Friendly. Gentle. Very un-Filchy."

"That's terrible!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I agree," Harry agreed. "I've seen many horrible things during the years of my life, but none of them was even close to Filch after he lost his cat. He's a broken man now."

"His cat died?" Draco inquired, feeling not one bit sympathetic.

"They had a fight and she ran away from him. Hasn't come back yet. As far as I know, she's with Neville right now."

"Poor Filch," Harry muttered.

"Poor cat living with Longbottom," Draco remarked under his breath.

"Perhaps a new school would cheer him up," Hermione mused. "You know, all the students to terrorize, long hallways to creep along looking for students to terrorize. Just like the old good days. And when Neville comes to teach Herbology, perhaps Filch and Mrs Norris will make it up."

"And live happily ever after," Draco commented sarcastically. But it was dark, and nobody noticed the sarcasm.

"Exactly."

"What colour is a badger?" Harry queried suddenly.

"Black and white. Why?"

"I don't know why they're black and white. You're the smart one here, you tell me."

"Because they want to play zebras?" she guessed. "I mean, why did you ask it?"

"Oh. Well, you see," Harry explained.

"No, I don't see. It's still too dark."

"Well, OK, you don't see then. But I'll tell you. Hufflepuff colours were yellow and black, and their animal, badger, is black and white. So the colour black links them. But Weasley colours are yellow and brown, and nothing links them to a badger. So he needs a new animal."

"Weasel?"

"Sunflower?"

"A bee, then," Harry concluded.

"Does this mean we can get new animals as well?" Hermione asked with enthusiasm.

"If you like."

"Ooh! Ooh! I know! I know!"

"Yes, owl?"

"How did you guess?" Hermione asked with a pout.

"Guessed what?"

"That I want my animal be an owl."

"Let's just say it suits you," Draco drawled.

"Because I'm smart like an owl?" she smiled at him.

"Of course."

"But owls aren't blue," Harry argued. "Only when you throw them into a paint pot."

"Or when you cross an owl with a bluebird."

"If I want a blue owl, I'll find myself a blue owl," Hermione glared at the boys. "Now, what's your choice, Harry?"

"A phoenix," he said dreamily.

"Good choice," she approved. "So we got a bee, an owl, and a phoenix. Draco?"

"I'm very happy with a snake."

"And a dragonfly," Hermione added.

"What? Why do I have to be a bug?"

"So is Ron."

"Not a consolation. You got an owl. You eat us for breakfast."

She sent him a sly and disturbingly seductive smile.

"Fine," Draco agreed grudgingly. "But don't expect me to like it."

"Would you two please stop that," Harry begged tiredly.

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at each other like this. It's… disturbing."

"If you don't like it, Potter, don't look."

"No, I better look," Harry said. "I don't even want to know what happens when I turn my head away."

"And as long as you don't look back, you won't find out what happens."

Harry grimaced at that. And then yawned. So did everybody else, except Ron who was already snoring.

"Time to get our beauty sleep, I suppose," he commented, and still keeping an eye on Draco and Hermione, lowered himself to the ground, which was still oddly warm.

"You don't need sleep to be beautiful," he whispered into her ear.

"Neither do you," she whispered back.

"But Potter does."

"Yes, and it seems he is reluctant to fall asleep before we do. Really, it's like he didn't trust us."

"Why on earth should he not trust us?" Draco grinned devilishly.

"His suspicious nature, I suppose."

"Yes, I reckon that."

"Good night, Draco."

"Good night, Hermione."

"Draco?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you take the recording spell off?"

"Sure. What's the incantation?"

"_Lõpeta kirjutamine_."

"Hermione? I need a wand."

But as she had already fallen asleep, and was holding his wand in an iron grip, Draco took hers instead, after making sure that Potter was out as well and not sending him an evil glare.

"Sweet dreams, love," he murmured and ended the spell.

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**A/N: **One more chapter to go. 

_Lõpeta kirjutamine _ - Finish writing

If anyone cares where I got the idea of Filch living with Fred & George, then it's inspired by phantomduck's "Surviving the Weasley Twins" (link in my profile).

Give the poor little ill girl a **REVIEW. **Really, I'm ill. (Not too poor and not quite little, though.) Nothing serious, just a head cold, but it's still making me feel like crap. And my nose hurts.


	9. Rise and Shine

**Author's Note: **Last chapter. Sad, isn't it? But before you start to bawl your eyes out (or not), let me remind you that this is only the first part in a trilogy, meaning there will be two more. And if you're afraid it might take me weeks/months/years to get started with the next piece, fear not - I'm already writing it, and will post the first chapter in about a week. :)

Other than that, thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers, thanks to all who followed and enjoyed this story. This is my first fic I have got over a hundred reviews for, and I can't tell just how much that means to me. :) THANK YOU!

_By the way_, I was going to post this chapter tomorrow, since it's the 9th chapter and tomorrow is the 9th of October, but my beta told me that since today is the 8th of October, and October is the 10th month, and ten plus eight is eighteen, and eighteen divided by two is nine, I should really post it today. Who can argue with logic like that!

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**Disclaimer: **Two times four I've been telling you this, but I will once more, so it makes three times three - _Harry Potter _belongs not to me.

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**The Founding Of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos**

_**Chapter 9: Rise and shine**_

It was noon when Draco finally woke up. Had he known that, he might have even panicked, although there was no need since he was the early bird in their group. But before he got the chance to look up at the sun at its highest peak of sky, he noticed two things.

Had he noticed these two things in the opposite order, the consequences might have been devastating.

However, the first thing Draco noticed on that fine sunny day was Hermione sleeping in his arms. His initial reaction to that was to stare with a wide mouth, and then scream. He managed to do that staring part all right, but before he managed to yell (and wake everybody up and bring forth the devastating consequences), he noticed the other thing.

His killer headache.

And the sun shining into his eyes and Weasley snoring did not help at all.

Nor did his trying to think back to the previous night. He remembered something about his resolution not to drink, afraid in whose arms he might wake up. Glancing from the sleeping girl to the other two, he realized with a shiver that he could have done a lot worse. Hell of a lot worse.

Still, things weren't as fabulous as they could have been. First, he still had that headache. Second, his memory was a heavy clump of haze. Third, the sun was still shining into his eyes and the evil glare he gave it only made his eyes hurt and water. Not to mention the fact that he was sitting in the ruins of Hogwarts with three bloody Gryffindors. That a couple of hours ago he had got drunk with the same three bloody Gryffindors and it was probably a blessing he didn't remember much of what had happened then.

Oh Merlin! Well, his only consolation was that if he was feeling like shit with no memory, the others would feel the same. The thoughts of Potter suffering were almost enough to lessen his own pain. Almost, but not quite.

And the memory thing meant that they had no recollection either of all the stupid things he had done, and therefore unable to blackmail him, or simply point a finger and laugh. Too bad he didn't remember anything he could use to blackmail them, or simply point a finger and laugh devilishly. Or sell to the _Daily Prophet_, so that everyone could point their fingers at the bloody trio and laugh, devilishly or not.

But as things were, he had a killer headache and no memories. Draco would have really liked to exchange one for the other.

Too bad that was impossible, he thought with a sigh, letting his eyes slide over Granger's journal and three vials of Hangover Potion beside it.

Wait a second.

Just wait a bloody second.

He turned his gaze back to the aforementioned objects and stared at them for long moments. It took some time to set his brain in motion and form the connections, but there was no stopping it now that the process had started.

Despite his killer headache, the stupid sun, and three bloody Gryffindors, Draco began to realize things that were not quite as awful as the other stuff he had had the displeasure to learn this fine day.

Slowly he stretched out his hand and grabbed a bottle, opened it, sniffed at it to make sure all this wasn't just some major hoax to poison him, and then downed it in one gulp.

Once his killer headache started to subside, things were rapidly getting a lot better. Of course, much to his disappointment, the three bloody Gryffindors did not evaporate or crumble into dust, but at least the sun didn't seem to have a personal grudge against him anymore.

Then he took the book, making a grave mistake of feeling too relieved and throwing his caution to the wind, but fortunately to him (luck really seemed to favour him on this beautiful morning… erm… noon) Granger had placed no protective charms upon it. How stupid of her.

Draco turned the book around in his hands, ostensibly examining it, but in reality gathering enough courage to actually open it.

When he finally realized how ridiculous he was being – after all, whatever he had done, he had been drunk, and none of it had really mattered – he opened it at the last page that had writing on it, and started to read, only to snap the book shut a moment later.

He had managed to read nothing else but the very last sentence. Yet that had been enough. More than enough even.

Draco could feel the thoughts and questions arising in his mind, and none of them were very pleasant. At least if he wanted to go on trying to pretend that nothing important had happened. And that he did.

With a groan he stood up, taking the book with him of course, to read it through carefully some other time when he was feeling a lot more confident. And a lot further away from three bloody Gryffindors who might wake up any minute now to start yelling and sending hexes at him.

Perhaps he would even find something he could use to blackmail them, or point his finger and laugh devilishly, or sell to the _Daily Prophet_.

Thinking about all the wonderful possibilities opening up to him, Draco smirked and walked straight into the magical Cupola he had cast the night before.

Oww.

Making sure that the three bloody Gryffindors were still deep asleep, and had not witnessed his wonderful act of stupidity, he drew his wand and took the dome quickly down.

And realized that his wand wasn't really _his_ wand.

"Bloody Gryffindors," he swore under his breath and searched the ground for his lost possession. He did find it in the end. And tried to remove it from her grip. And failed. And tried again. Until she let out a groan and turned to her other side, holding the wand firm against her body.

The fact that he could understand her behaviour very well did nothing to improve his mood. The war was over, yes, but too little time had passed, and they had yet to grow out of their habit of keeping a wand close at all times, even in sleep.

And as he knew that, he also knew that taking it away from her, by a spell or by force, would definitely wake her up, and that he was not going to let happen.

Three bloody Gryffindors were better served asleep than awake.

And even though there was a spell to reveal the owner of a wand, the time she would cast it he would be far, far away, leaving her with nothing but confusion and dread of all the things she did not remember.

Draco grinned evilly, and walked away without a backwards glance to the three bloody Gryffindors.

---

It was already late afternoon when Ron and Harry finally woke up, feeling like it was a really bad idea.

With some groans and co-operation they managed to locate the two other vials of the potion and drink them up.

When their senses turned a bit clearer, and they managed to stand up, the boys momentarily realized something was amiss.

"Where's Hermione?" Ron asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice. The war was over, but old habits die hard, and the world was still not as safe as they would have wished.

Harry looked around scanning their surroundings, which wasn't really much since they couldn't look over the ragged stone wall around them.

"Let's get out of here," he offered, pointing to the small opening between the rocks.

Once out of the pile of stones, they were able to find her quickly, sitting under a tree by the lake.

When they had reached her and sat down by her side, Ron noticed a bottle in her hands. It was the same one she had had last night, which still had a couple of mouthfuls of liquid in it.

"You shouldn't be drinking in the morning," Ron told her.

"It's not morning anymore."

"All right then. But you should at least share."

"There's nothing to share anymore," Hermione grinned and emptied the bottle quickly.

"That was evil," Ron teased her.

After a few minutes in comfortable silence Harry suggested a refreshing swim.

Ron agreed and stood up, but before taking off his robes and rushing into the water, he snatched Hermione's bottle from her and took a long sniff of it for no particular reason.

"That odd," he commented absentmindedly. "Smells like apples."

But he thought no more of it, as he stripped off his clothes and jumped into the lake.

Hermione took the bottle and stared at it for a while.

"Of course it smells like apples, idiot," she spoke, even though no one was there to hear. "It's apple juice, after all. Did you really think I was stupid enough to get drunk for real last night? Someone had to remain sane and keep you two away from trouble."

She put the bottle down and glanced at the ruins of Hogwarts, her crystal clear memories of the night before giving her no rest.

**The End (of Part One)**

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**A/N:**

Heheheheee. Liked my twist?

:P

If you're confused as hell, and can't wait till I explain it in some other part of the trilogy, demand an explanation in your review. ;)

**_Also, _**the second part – "The Founding of Pigwarts II: Cooking Chaos" – is up. :)

**Three times three I'm telling thee - REVIEW!**


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